


Pieces of Time

by Quiet_reader



Series: Sensory Verse [1]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Autism, Autistic Tony, Child Abuse, De-aged tony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Heck no, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not just 'was believed to be acceptable', Prompt Fic, Slow-build Steve/Tony, Sort of - was believed to be acceptable during the time period, Tony-centric, mild gore?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:31:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_reader/pseuds/Quiet_reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long-awaited sequel to Sensory Overload (though this is set before Sensory Overload)! Tony is de-aged by accident during an encounter with the Enchantress. This is the story of how the Avengers learn that Tony is autistic, and how they react to the news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deductress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deductress/gifts).



> Hey, look. It's a fic! What a lot of writing I've done over the past few days.
> 
> This is a story I've been working on for absolutely ages in response to this prompt here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19994.html?thread=48557082#t48557082
> 
> I will be continuing my slow-updates for the moment which I'm sorry for. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve Rogers blinked once. Twice.

Without making a sound, he reached a grimy hand into one of the multitude pockets his uniform him and withdrew a crisply folded ten dollar bill unmarred despite the smoke damage his outfit was stained by. It was one of the things that gave him a bizarre pleasure these days – paying for things by cash rather than all these ‘credit cards’ everyone else seemed so enamoured by. Those small plastic cards just didn’t feel like real money and he had initially found it far too easy to overspend and ignore the true value of things. When SHIELD had first presented him with one, he’d been far too free with using it. It was only at the end of the month when he was counting up his finances that he realised quite how much he had spent. Since then? He much preferred dealing with cash. 

Well, for that reason and the fact that it annoyed Tony who seemed determined to drag him kicking and screaming into the new century. But that was just an added benefit. Really.

Still. Trolling the man like that really was immensely satisfying. 

Without looking, he reached out behind him, note in hand, and determinedly did not grimace at the feeling of Nick Fury removing the money. Nor did he turn to see the fleeting grin that he just knew had spread across the other’s usually stony features.

Smug bastard (and yes, he was perfectly capable of ‘language’ in his own head!) 

Equally, he absolutely refused to utter the ‘you win again,’ or something of that ilk that he knew Fury was just aching to hear him say. Just plain refused. 

Instead? His gaze remained fixated on the white hospital bed before him. Lying in said bed lay a tiny creature. A boy, really. A tiny scrap of thing who couldn’t possibly be the eight years old that the SHIELD medics had promised he was. He had scruffy dark hair that was spread wildly out on the stark (hah!) white pillow. 

He really was tiny. All elbows and skinny knees and looking so, so young and vulnerable against the pale hospital sheets. Even more so with his face lax in sleep (unconsciousness, his traitorous subconscious reminded him, vastly different to sleep). His dark eyelashes fluttered against the ashen cheeks as air puffed through them causing them to inflate and deflate in a soothingly rhythmic fashion. It was surprising how reassuring those two movements were. The constant beeps and low hum of machinery provided a slightly reassuring backdrop that the child on the bed before him was alive. But those movements? Those were a much greater reassurance. Visible proof that he was alive. Steve didn’t know why it was more reassuring, but it was.

The old adage about someone looking tiny in a hospital bed? That was proving to be depressingly accurate. Particularly with this … child.

Steve would never have thought of Tony Stark as being small, vulnerable. No labels like that. It was true that the other man was short, but the way he could just saunter into a room and command all its’ occupants attention? That was almost a physical denial of his lack of size. 

It was so hard to compute that this tiny child before him was Tony Stark. 

They’d been in battle, surprisingly enough (it would have either been that or in some truly twisted lab experiment gone wrong), against some Asgardian witch who had been determined to get revenge on Thor for some perceived slight or other. Thor had blushed and changed the conversation quite rapidly when quizzed on this. Her companion, a creature who bore disturbing similarities to the ogres and orcs as described by Tolkein, yet armed with a lethal looking axe, had took on the Avengers in battle whilst the witch (Amoral?) had read from a scrap of ancient looking parchment. Stark had taken great pleasure in wondering out loud which was older, Steve or this paper. 

Yet, not too long after that, smoke had begun streaming out of the paper whilst pink rays of light had darted from it heading directly towards Thor. Tony had rapidly interjected himself between the rays and their intended target before anyone else could even react. 

The stupid man. 

He always arrogantly assumed that his armour would be able to take whatever was thrown at it. (Steve knew that it wasn’t really arrogance, he knew that, it was a twisted combination of the man’s pathological desire to protect the world and remain in control. It was just easier to think ‘arrogance’ when he was annoyed. _Worried_ ) 

The second the rays hit Tony turned into one of those odd moments in battle when everything seemed to slow down. A moment of peace. Thor, Steve and the Asgardian were watching with (almost comedic) similar looks of horror. Natasha, Clint and Hulk had been busy occupying the axe-wielding orc, but even their battle had taken a second to rest as they each assessed their opponents. 

Silence. 

Steve was about to relax; maybe Tony’s armour had somehow managed to block the pink rays. 

Then the noises began. 

At first Steve wasn’t even able to recognise them as noises from Tony, thought for just a moment that the com might have been malfunctioning for some reason. (Something else he could use to wind up Tony with).

Then he realised they were sounds of Tony making breathless sounds of discomfort.

“Stark?”

‘Discomfort’ didn’t cover it. These sounded like he was trying his hardest to both scream, and not scream at the same time. As though he didn’t have the strength left to make the sound. 

“What did you do, Amora?!” Thor roared as he sprang forward to catch the frozen suit. 

“Failed, clearly!” the Asgardian witch snapped back, moving her hands in complicated movements that Steve couldn’t follow. “Skurge, let’s return!” Seconds later, faster than Steve could even think about moving, the pair disappeared with a flash of more pink light (why did magic so often involve pink?)

“Damnit!” Black Widow cursed as she dashed over to where Thor was cradling Tony’s form on the ground as he did nothing other than formulate those continual pathetic-sounding whimpers of agony. “Stark? Stark, can you hear me?”

No response.

“Iron Man?” called Thor as he pressed the catches to remove the face mask obscuring Stark’s expression from his teammates. “Jarvis, can you hear us?” 

“Affirmative, Master Odin.” came the cool robotic tones of Jarvis simultaneously into all their com units. “Dr. Stark is most unwell. It appears that his bone structure is both re-formulating and shrinking.”

“Re-formulating…shrinking?” Clint echoed as he joined the bevy of heroes surrounding their fallen team-mate. “…As in breaking?” 

It was at that moment that Thor fully removed the helmet, and the audible cracking and snapping sounds, the sound augmented by echoing throughout the metallic suit, answered Clint’s question all too clearly.

Tony’s face was a picture of agony, stark white with sweat pouring from his brow as though some fool had upended a bucket of water over him. His mouth was set into a rictus of pain, lips clenched together with a dribble of blood already tricking down his jaw clearly showing he’d bitten clear through his lip in effort to keep any sounds to himself. 

Saying that, Steve doubted that Tony was even thinking about keeping quiet, it was more likely that he’d clenched his jaw shut automatically and now beyond releasing the bones.

“…” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. What could he do? What in hell was happening?

“Med-evac. Now.” he snapped into the comm, barely remembering to change it over to the frequency that SHIELD was listening in on. “Stark is suffering from multiple bones breaking-” he swallowed as another audible snap echoed from deep within the suit causing a further sound to force its way through Stark’s tightly clenched jaw.

“Hold on, Tony.” Natasha murmured, switching from dangerous assassin to soothing team-mate in an instant. “Help’s on its way, just keep focusing on breathing.” She reached out with one hand and softly stroked the man’s drenched hair in effort to soothe him, “Clint.” She snapped, her voice sharp once again, “Get something for him to bite on so he doesn’t bite through his tongue.” 

With a nod Clint pushed himself to his feet and hurtled his way into one of the nearby shops, clearly eager to be away from the magic that was causing one of his friends to have each of their bones systematically break.

“What’s…happening?” Steve asked, directing the question at Thor who had the most experience with this type of thing.

The demi-God shrugged his broad shoulders, a ripple of motion that countered the rock-steadiness that was present in the rest of his frame as he supported Iron Man, an unreadable expression spread across his features; guilt, horror, shame…“I know not. I have never heard of a spell that would do such as this. Nor do I believe that Amora hates me enough to wish to cause such damage. She is angry because she bears great affection for me that I do not return… But I don’t believe that she would do this. I can only assume that it was meant to affect one of Asgardian descent in a vastly different fashion.” 

“Sirs.” Jarvis interjected, tone growing in urgency. “I repeat my statement that Dr.Stark is _shrinking_. It is important to remove him from the suit in case it causes him further damage.”

Thor, Natasha and Steve all shared a quick glance with each other before rapidly beginning to remove the armour under Jarvis’ snippy guidance. The more of the armour was removed, the more evident it became how true the AI’s words were. 

Tony wasn’t only ‘shrinking’, as in literally getting smaller before their eyes with each snap of a bone, but he appeared to be getting younger. The contours of his face were softening, and as Natasha removed the chest plate it immediately became obvious that the arc reactor had been steadily pushed into his body as the armour held it in place despite the body’s attempts to reject it.

Steve froze for a moment at the site of the blood gushing from the area of someone who was so beginning to resemble a child. His face paled as his frame rocked back for a second causing Natasha to snap at him “Focus, Steve.” 

Not trusting his mouth, nor his churning gut, Steve grabbed Thor’s cloak, the nearest piece of fabric he could see, and immediately held it to the leaking wound of the now (thankfully!) unconscious man-child, his throat bobbing as he attempted to swallow down the acidic taste that was trying to rise up from his gorge. 

Natasha shot him a tight smile as she knelt backwards, allowing Thor to remove the last of the armour from the man-child as she got back on the comms with SHIELD informing them that they had better ‘hurry the fuck up’. Mere moments later an ambulance pulled up, driven by familiar agents who, without even pausing to gawk, shoved through the worried team (now re-joined by both Bruce and Clint) and immediately began doing…things… to the unconscious (not dead) man (child). Who was not dead. He was not dead. He was breathing. It was laboured, and he was letting out unconscious (high-pitched. Far too high-pitched for an adult male) whimpers. But he was alive. 

Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. _Not deadnotdeadnotdeadnotdead_

“Steve!”

A small hand cracked across his face, breaking the thoughts which held him captive. 

“Focus, Steve!” snapped Natasha, her own eyes wide enough to betray her own sense of horror and shock. “Let’s get to the base, they’ll find out what’s happening there. Come on.” 

Without speaking, the remainder of the team trouped into a second van and were driven to the hospital SHIELD base where they were promptly left cooling their heels for seven hours before Steve alone, as team captain, was escorted in to see the unconscious (not dead) Tony…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Heh. Sorry for the delay - I expected at least a bit of delay, but not several months. Many apologies. :(
> 
> That said, this chapter has been written in one fell swoop today (I had done research for it previously - I now know far more than I could ever want to about monitoring equipment in hospitals), and I've barely proof-read it, let alone edited. I may well do so at a later date depending on how many errors I find. 
> 
> This is the first time I’ve tried to write Fury, I’m highly annoyed. I have watched Avengers 1 about five times (not really a challenge, but sort of as I had to keep hitting pause) and written down every line that he said just to try and get a hang on his tone and still don’t feel I’ve got it right at all. Bah. Really sorry. . It has given me new appreciation for Whedon though! That man truly is a genius with dialogue. Fury just speaks through .. hrm. It’s not a simile, but another type of speech. When you constantly make references to stuff, essentially. Such as when he said ‘Ant. Boot’ It’s genius. He left out all the details of what the ant and boot were, but just expected the viewers to understand through cultural reference. Suits Fury perfectly and I just can’t get that …Fury-ness down. That and Banter. I need to work on banter. Bah. 
> 
> (PS. Can any AvengersKink folk tell me if I ought to mention that chapter 2 has been posted on the forum?) 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway. Now there's a mammoth long note for you to read... enjoy?

After a long moment of just staring blankly at the unconscious child, Steve managed to tear his gaze away and focus it on Fury with razor-like intensity.

“Report.” 

Later, when he had time to think about it, he would be horrified about his lack of manners and curtness to one such as Fury. Just at that moment? He desperately wanted to know that his teammate was, well, he obviously wasn’t alright…

Fury quirked an eyebrow; it was rare for him to be ordered to give a report these days, but he decided to not cause difficulties. There was a thrum of tension running beneath the Captain’s muscles that suggested it best if he just answered the man.

“The doctor’s reports are inconclusive.” Fury was not man enough to admit that the thrill of annoyance he felt on saying those words was based partially on the fact that they _didn’t_ have the answers. His doctors were the best, for them to be confused was…a source of irritation.

“Physically, he appears to be a child, they reckon that he’s eight years old, though we need him to confirm that. He has some minor cuts from where the armour caught on him and his chest is a mess. It seemed that as he was shrinking, his body tried to reject the arc reactor, but the armour held it in place. It therefore tore through part of his chest muscles. He also has some broken ribs; the arc reactor was attached to them, and as his body tried to expel it... That’s why it took so long; the doctors were doing some major surgery. He should be fine, but will need to take it easy for a while. Otherwise, he seems to be alright. Though we don’t know what his mind will be like. He’s under some heavy medication right now and hasn’t awoken yet.” 

Fury fell silent as he allowed Rogers the time to chew over his words. It wasn’t a pretty picture he’d painted, and he’d left out the doctor’s concerns over infections. Nor had he mentioned that the kid’s heart had failed twice during the surgery and had had to be restarted. It was unlike the man to hold back the truth out of kindness, but the way Rogers’ face had crumpled for just a moment suggested that enough of the rather grisly image had been passed over.

“What. What about the rest of his bones? We could hear them snapping.”

“That was most likely the bones shortening themselves as Stark shrank. There does not appear to be much damage from that. The x-rays show several of his bones to be in a state of healing, or had been broken previously, but that shouldn’t cause him too many issues. They’ll ache, but it should be controllable through medication.”

“So, now…?”

“We wait. Nothing else can be concluded until he wakes up and we see what sort of state his mind is in.”

Sometimes Fury really did wish that he did not have such a blunt personality. The time when his words caused that look to cross Captain America’s face… that was one of them. He remained silent while he waited for the Captain to pull his thoughts together before adding on, “The doctors have said you can all wait in here though if you want. You shouldn’t disturb him.” Always best to add a bit of sugar with the sour. 

Steve gave a sharp nod and exited the room to go and coral the rest of his teammates and update them to the situation. 

The moment he walked back into the waiting room he was practically pounced on by Clint and Thor as they assailed him with questions about their team-mates health. Never mind that they’d been sitting there for seven hours (other than having slipped off one-by-one for showers and to change into normal clothes) they all still seemed remarkably energetic. 

Bruce and Natasha both remained in their positions though they immediately looked at Steve with the same intensity. Bruce was sitting at Natasha’s feet where he had at one stage had a nap. Natasha had one hand carding its way through the scientists curls, an unspoken attempt at keeping him calm through the worrying hours. She knew herself well enough to know that it helped to assuage her own worry if she focused on that of her team-mates, they were all well versed enough in each other’s behaviour patterns to allow her to comfort them through trying times. 

Steve hesitated, trying to decide what was the most important information to give out first. That Tony had the body of an eight year old? That he was still unconscious? That he had a truly grotesque sounding chest injury that no child ought to have?

“We can go and see him.” Were the words he heard himself say. That… That hadn’t been his plan. Still, what words could he offer to prepare his team-mates? At least they had all seen him in this child’s body…

“He’s. Well, he’s not in brilliant shape. Director Fury explained that the breaks are mostly healed, or are healing apart from in his chest. It appears that as he…shrunk… the arc reactor did some serious damage. He will be alright, but he’s currently still unconscious and they don’t know what his mental state will be like.”

“You mean if he’s actually a child, or an adult in a child’s body, right? How is this our life…” Clint moaned, one hand scrubbing its way down his face as he closed his eyes momentarily. “Seriously. How. From mind-controlling rods to… this. No offence, Thor buddy, but none of this sells Asgard pretty well.” 

A look of shame crossed over Thor’s bearded face, “You have not seen the best of my people.” He admitted, hints of anger mingled with pain contorting his normally peaceful expression. Steve laid a hand on the god’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort. 

“I’m sure they are mostly better than this, we just need to meet those who don’t want to take over Earth.” 

Thor nodded, but the look of guilt did not lift from his countenance. “Still, if I had not come to this planet, then these problems would not be assailing you now. I… apologise for the inconvenience that I have caused.” 

Clint stepped closer; resting a hand on Thor’s other shoulder, “No apology needed. If you hadn’t come, some other jerk would have who we wouldn’t like half so much. Besides, personally speaking, I much prefer my life as it is currently than how it was before. Sure, I was busy, but I didn’t have many I can rely on as heavily as I do on you all. Disaster may have well brought us together, but we are a team now. I wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

“You speak truly,” Thor replied, a bit of the guilt seeming to ease from the god’s unusually heavy expression. “Thank you. I would still have preferred to not have brought this down upon you all, but I do not regret all the consequences my actions have led to. We are a team of mighty warriors who have formed bonds strong enough that legends will be sung of us long after we have passed. Of that I have now doubt. For now, my friends, let us go to our ailing comrade. He should not be alone right now.” 

Steve nodded, blinking in surprise as he noticed that Bruce and Natasha had somehow squeezed past the huddle in the doorway and were waiting for them down the corridor. Natasha arced one finely manicured eyebrow as though to question what they were waiting for, before continuing to make her way down the corridor. 

Steve felt a slightly rueful grin cross his expression as the rest of the team hurried their way towards Tony’s room. Natasha was not one for emotional talks; she would sit there and analyse why you felt what you did with someone, or she would quite happily correct you, but she preferred to demonstrate her caring through actions, sometimes violent ones. He had no doubt that Thor would at some receive a firm ‘talking to’ in his far too near future. 

As they entered into the…child’s room, Bruce immediately made his way over to the machines engulfing the bed to see what readings he could glean from them. It was something he strongly disliked about SHIELD medical – they didn’t have paper charts anywhere that he could handily look at. All information about the patient was instead kept on a computer in the corner of each room. 

Still, at least the rooms were large enough that several people could comfortably stay in them. Most hospitals had such small rooms that it would have been highly uncomfortable for five or more people to spend large amounts of time in them. SHIELD, however, was well accustomed to the fact that most of its agents worked in some form of team or other, and team-mates were eager to check up on each other. 

SHIELD medical was, after all, exceedingly well funded. 

The sheer amount of diagnostic equipment did not paint a pretty picture; the ECG machine was only to be expected. The boy lying in the bed would clearly need to be having his heartrate monitored after all, particularly if his chest was as bad off as it had sounded in the very brief description Rogers had given them all. 

Bruce had been more than capable of reading between the lines that the Captain had given them. He had _seen_ scans that had shown precisely how the reactor had been attached to his friends chest. Metal rods, four on each side of the cavernous hole, had been wired to different rib bones to anchor the structure into place. That wasn’t even to speak of the damage that the casing itself could have caused…

If those rods hadn’t detached smoothly…

Well. Monitoring of his heart rate was only to be expected. Bruce was only surprised to see that the boy wasn’t intubated as well. It seemed as though the spell had been sort of healing him at the same time as causing damage… Maybe there hadn’t been too much damage to his lungs that the doctors here had had to rectify. 

The EEG machine was a bit of a surprise, the Captain hadn’t made it sound like To- the boy had gone into a coma, so why were his brain patterns being monitored? Perhaps they had given him an anaesthetic for some reason and were still using it to work out how deeply under he was? Or they were concerned about a seizure? Not enough data for him to know. Still, the boy’s brainwaves all appeared normal, that was something at least. 

The boy’s blood pressure wasn’t too terrible. It was quite low, but that was only to be expected with the amount of blood loss that surely must have occurred. There ought to be something in the IV unit that would stabilise that… Indeed, the extra blood infusion he was clearly in the process of being given would help with that. 

All in all? He was bad. The low numbers on far too many of those machines aptly demonstrated that, but not life threateningly bad. Pretty much what the Captain had said. Saying that, he hadn’t chanced checking the boy’s body himself. Most unlike him, he normally preferred to garner as much data as possible from the patient rather than machines.

That seemed a bit more difficult with this patient. 

“How is he?” Natasha asked, her words short and to the point as ever. 

“As Steve said, he’s not good but he should be fine. He’s damn lucky they haven’t had to intubate him.”

A subtle wince crossed Clint’s expression; they all knew how much Tony hated being intubated. It was tougher to see too, some massive great tube sliding its way down a friend’s throat. Knowing, _knowing_ how necessary it was, and that your friend wouldn’t be able to breathe without it. Clint could only imagine how much more difficult it would have been while their friend was in this child’s form.

“Any clue on when he’ll wake up, Doc?” came the hesitant question pitched at a softer than normal volume. It was so hard to speak at a normal tone when in the presence of an unconscious person. He didn’t want to put any further pressure on Bruce by forcing him to give them an estimate, but he wanted to know, damnit! How long were they going to have to wait to find out if there was an adult or a child residing in that body? Patience was one of the archer’s many fortes, but this type of patience was never easy to bear. 

“None, as of yet, I don’t know how his stats have altered during the surgery. That would give me some clue as to when, but without that…” the distracted doctor cum scientist replied as he continued to pore over the information available to him.

As his teammates quietly discussed things among themselves and slowly began to settle down on some of the chairs that littered the room, Thor observed the figure in the bed in a silence unusual to the God. He could not chase away the lingering feelings of guilt despite his teammates words.

Amora had come here specifically for him.

She had aimed a spell at _him_ that Iron Man had intercepted.

They did not know what the effects of said spell were other than the obvious. 

They did not know how the effects of the spell would affect a human as opposed to an Asgardan.

They did not know how the very presence of the arc reactor could have disrupted the spell, let alone the effects of the armour.

There was so much that they did not know, and there was no one they could question about it. And his teammates tried to say that this was not his fault.

True, he had not cast the spell at Tony Stark himself, but…

The God’s mighty fists clenched, the hand holding Mjolnir at his side even trembled from the force that he was gripping the shaft. 

He knew that Amora had a … disliking for him as their romance had died out. He did not expect her to go to such measures, but he knew she was vengeful! Gone was the girl he had and his brother had so care freely played with in their younger years. 

With a grunt, Thor spun around, allowing his cape to wrap itself around him in a fashion that would have caused Fury to be most envious. “My friends, I will return with answers.” He swore, before exiting the room too rapidly to hear any protests they have may have offered. 

Steve watched Thor’s hurried exit, a momentary annoyance curdling within his belly over the fact that Thor did not seem to want to wait to see if Tony was alright before he snuffed it out. Thor obviously felt horrendously guilty over the day’s occurrences, and if he could be more useful trying to find out some answers? Then Steve would not judge. Instead he rolled his shoulders, trying to lose some of the tension and returned to staring the slumbering (not dead) child. 

The team remained mostly in place for three further days, alternating out to do things such as shower and eat. Thor checked in twice a day in the morning and evening, each time his shaggy face looking slightly more downhearted as he reported no further news.

It was on the evening of the fourth day that something finally happened. Clint and Natasha were playing a game of backgammon (Natasha was winning, despite what Clint claimed). Bruce was reading off his starktablet; Steve suspected that he was reading from various scientific journals considering the copious amount of notes he was scribbling down in a typical doctor’s scrawl, whilst Steve himself was sitting there reading from an old-fashioned paper novel. (He would hopefully be able to wind Tony up about this shortly).

The almost peaceful air was disrupted by one of the multitude of machines surrounding the bed beginning to beep. Bruce’s eyes flicked instantly to the machine as he pushed himself to his feet, allowing the tablet to fall to the floor with hands that no longer cared. “I think…”

The words were broken off by the scientist hurrying to the side of the bed, “Tony…?” he called softly, taking one hand oh so gently and rubbing the skin between his own, much larger hands. “Tony, can you hear me?”

It took Steve only seconds longer to reach the bed than it did Bruce, and he blinked down at the unfamiliar countenance. 

The boy’s eyes were open.


End file.
